As I Stand Before His Grave
by Stirack
Summary: What force could drive me to return? Thirty years—no, more—since I set my sights on that sleepy village in any lucid state of mind. I did not return for her... it was for him: that shadow whose coattails I had tried to catch the whole life, whether I chose to admit it or not. He was the idol I would never know or reach, a stranger forever... and the only one to ever love me.*Kay*


**/I have been debating posting this story for quite some time... It will certainly be the most genuine attempt at a longer piece of fan fiction since I discarded** ** _That Which Runs Red_** **. It's been a looooong time, I know, but one thing I can assure you all is that my writing has improved tenfold. This story, set in the Kayverse, will be my main focus in regards to fan fiction. I plan to rewrite** ** _The Dream I Wish to Live_** **, but I can't say when that will happen. Until then, I hope you all enjoy! Drop me a little review and tell my what you think./**

There was always a change when I passed the aged, crumbling fence posts that served as markers for the borders of Saint-Martin-de-Boscherville: a deep-rooted unease that pricked the hairs on my neck. I felt hunted and watched, as if the very trees despised the return of my long-departed presence.

"César," I nudged the horse gently with the heels of my boots, urging him forward. The flattening of his ears and the wariness in his slow hoof-beats led me to give the steed a reassuring pat on the withers; his apprehension no doubt stemmed from my own. The decades that had come and gone, the horrors lived and witnessed… all of it proved inconsequential in the shadow of that sleepy little village. Upon crossing the county line, I was no longer a well-traveled and learned oddity, a man not yet aged half a century who already felt too jaded and worn by life and it's nightmarish trials… I was a boy again, wide-eyed and wondered like some distant, ignorant pilgrim stumbling into a realm both familiar and utterly unknown.

We were two smudges upon the dimming, afternoon green, a spot of snowy white and a stain of black, meandering off the beaten path to avoid even the rarest possibility of an encounter. César was travel-hardy and strong for a stage horse, due to our nighttime excursions in the Parisian countryside over the past years. A calmer, more obedient mount could not be found; truly, the striking ivory of his coat—unfortunately visible, even at night—was the only trouble I ever faced riding him.

It was his first voyage with me to Boscherville—hell, the last time I had set weary eyes upon that damned homestead, I had been a young man halfway into his twenties and under the influence of an opium-induced fantasy. If asked my reason for returning after more than two decades, I could not offer a simple reply. There were no friendly faces to greet me, no charming laughter or warm smiles to welcome home a wayward son. For God knows why, I was traveling over a hundred kilometers from Paris to that damned village where I had been gifted nothing but heartache and misery.

"Perhaps not entirely lacking reason, eh, my friend?" Though I received no answer from the trotting equine, César was the closest I had to a conversational companion. At least the horse did not lecture and accuse as the _dear Daroga_ oh-so-loved to do; I found our odd banter amusing in the off moments of whimsy, I admit, but the constant berating over _trivial_ mishaps resulting from my rather… _individual…_ sense of humor, proved tedious and could bore me to death on the best of days. "You and I, we enjoy the ride, yes?" I sighed, scratching César's neck with gloved fingers. "It would do the both of us well to be in the air more, my friend… too long underground, we have been…" I filled my lungs with the crisp country air, relishing the purity of it. The smog of Paris and the mold of the cellars were a world away. "We are nearly there, my friend—there, do you see?" On cue, as if by the hands of a well-timed stage crew in my own, personal opera, the not-so-distant silhouette of steepled roofs entered my gaze.

Tightening my gloved grip on the reins, I clicked my tongue and nudged him with my heels. César responded gladly, kicking his hooves into a swift canter with youthful glee. His enthusiasm wrested an amused smirk from my lips, and one could not help but feel influenced by the equine's joy. The increase in speed blew back my cloak's cowl and let the wind tousle the inky strands of hair loosened from their tie; the clouded sun on my back, the frigid air catching the edges of my mask… it felt exhilarating. With sudden daring I nudged the horse again, bringing him to a full gallop and tugging the reins towards a barley-spotted hill rising ahead of us. I lifted myself in the saddle for the sake of our balance and felt the stirrups tighten around my riding boots. "Whoa," my voice accompanied my hands on the reins, slowing the steed to a trot all too soon upon cresting the hill.

"That may prove troubling." Unlike the pale pastel, cloudless south eastern sky behind us, unbroken gray stretch from the north, bringing with it a very real threat of rain. "I do not foresee a night under the stars, César. It appears we have little choice but to rejoin the human race for dry lodgings… perhaps…" I sighed, shoulders slumping, before nudging the horse with my boot heels and tugging the reins in the direction of the road. "I shall be regretting this, I know…"

It was early evening and a light rain fell by time we reached the village. Memory guided me along the dirt road even as kept my eyes focused on a point between César's ears. In carts pulled by mules or stout ponies passed men returning home from a day of work, but they paid no more mind to me than I did them—I was just another weary traveler passing through Boscherville as many did on their way to the coast, cloaked in shadow for protection from the rain rather than to hide my dubious visage. As we neared the tiny inn I knew to be for just such travelers, a passing wagon, belonging to a bricklayer, I presumed, from the materials strapped to the back, called out, "The rain's only goin' to get worse, monsieur! I'd spare my mount and take a room—there's plenty open at the Fox Den!" He grinned toothily, unable to see the mask in the shade of my cowl.

"Thank you, I believe I shall." I tipped my cloaked head before clicking my tongue at César to bring him around to a steady trot. The chill of my damp clothes were beginning to send shivers up my arms when the stable doors came into view. Dismounting, I patted César's strong withers before grasping the reins and leading him into the dry stables. A young boy in his early teens brushed a dapple mare, peaking over the wall of the occupied stall at the sound of César's hooves.

"Good evening, monsieur! Will you be staying the night?" He jumped the stall door, brushing straw from his dusty hair.

"Yes," I answered shortly. Before handing over my horse's lead, I cautioned, "I expect my horse to be dried, brushed, and well fed. If I am unsatisfied with his care, there will be trouble for you, young man." I watched the boy's eyes grow to twice their size as he seemed to take in my threatening words, coupled with my imposing height and dark attire. "But," I continued once I felt he was sufficiently terrified, "if I _am_ satisfied with his care come tomorrow morning, you will find yourself with ten extra francs. Do we have an understanding, boy?"

Again his eyes widened, but this time from astonishment. "Y-yes sir! I'll take real' good care of him, sir!" Placated, I handed him the reins. The stable hand smiled brightly when César happily nuzzled his hair. Scratching the white steed's nose, he asked, "What's his name, monsieur? He's a real' nice fellow."

"César." I ran my fingers threw the equine's mane before nodding tersely in farewell.

"You can take that door there straight into the inn, monsieur!"

"Thank you." I braced a forearm to push open the inn door, but stopped short. Like a well organized accountant, I began filing through every possible scenario I could face once inside. A frown hooked the corners of my mouth; most outcomes that came to mind hardly fared well— a goodly number ended with my fist breaking a few noses. I chuckled at the imagery, tapping a finger against that very accessory of my mask. _Let us have down with it, then._

 **/This was definitely a pilot-chapter. Chapter two will dive right into the plot... my only hint is that we will be seeing some very familiar faces!**

 **I always adore writing Erik's social interactions with others. I never know if he'll snark them to death or break their face.**

 **Love it? Hate it? Leave a review and tell me what you think!**


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